


In the Line of Fire

by AmberBrown



Series: Reading between the Lines [7]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Attempt Rape, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Series, Pre-Slash, Sexual Assault, memories of childhood sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21898645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberBrown/pseuds/AmberBrown
Summary: Porthos, Aramis and Marsac are captured. Two of the captors take an unhealthy interest in Aramis. How will Porthos help his friend?
Relationships: Aramis/Porthos
Series: Reading between the Lines [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542634
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	In the Line of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> There is some nastiness, as per the tagging, but it leads to a progression of our Musketeers relationship.
> 
> The Spanish in this is from Google translate. I have a serious lack of Spanish so have no idea how accurate it is. There are only a couple of lines, it’s not essential to the plot, just adding some colour. Please feel free to gently correct my lack of foreign language skills!!

It was a simple mission, but Aramis was glad to get out of the city. Out of the city, they could relax, there were no Red Guardsmen to annoy them. Although neither he nor Porthos had experienced any more problems it was still good to be free of the threat. Deschamps had not reported the fight with Marsac. The Red Guardsman would not be able to truthfully talk about the assault. Marsac would simply say he was avenging the attack on Porthos. The stalemate between them all would continue. Aramis was glad to be away from it all for a few days.

He was also glad to be with his two best friends. Marsac had been there since the beginning of the regiment and Porthos had saved his life. Aramis was not only friends with Porthos because he had saved his life. No. They shared a connection that he and Marsac did not. Although the differences between his two friends were what made the mission a little difficult. Porthos knew about Aramis' childhood and what he still did, Marsac did not know, and he could not. Marsac would not understand. Aramis had always kept his past a private thing, until Porthos. Porthos had talked to him, tried to get him around to his way of thinking. Aramis knew what he was, it was wrong, it was a sin. He was a sinner. He repented frequently, he tried to stop. But he could not. And Porthos was the one he could talk to, the one who would understand. He just had to keep that side of his life away from Marsac.

Marsac was riding ahead of him and Porthos. He was far enough ahead to be out of earshot. His friend had been looking forward to the mission and had been ready to leave before  
either he or Porthos were out of the mess. The mission needed the three of them to protect the information they were supposed to be collecting. Treville had despatched a separate trio of Musketeers to actually collect the information. They were to act as decoys. There was a high chance of the information being sought by foreign powers. They merely had headed in the right direction for a day or two before returning. 

Porthos had fallen into an easy trot next to Aramis. Something else that Aramis liked about Porthos was his ability to enjoy silence. Marsac tended to fill silences. Porthos was happy to sit in silence. 

It was Aramis who broke the silence. There was something he needed to tell his friend. He knew he should have talked about it. Before he had only touched on the subject.

'You know he'd kill us,' he said quietly.

Porthos looked at him, his brow furrowed.

'He'd kill us for what we are, what we do…'

Porthos slowly nodded his understanding.

'I never told him about what I do… what I need to do because he is the complete opposite of me.'

'Why are you friends with him?'

Aramis could not think of an answer for a few seconds.

'I still go to mass each week even though what I do is wrong - a sin.'

Porthos sighed, Aramis knew that Porthos did not see what they were as a sinful existence. Porthos enjoyed his liaisons with men. Aramis was fairly sure Porthos was trying to persuade him that sleeping with other men was not wrong. They had shared a few moments over the past few weeks. Those moments, a touch, a look, a word or two, had left Aramis confused and conflicted. And the last thing Aramis wanted was for Porthos to do something in front of Marsac that might give them both away. Aramis did not want anything to happen to Porthos. If he had to deny what he was in front of Marsac to keep Porthos safe Aramis was more than happy to do so.

'Please,' said Aramis, realising he had to verbalise his thoughts. 'He's a good man. You both are. He's just... he's…'

Porthos moved his horse closer, their knees brushed together, soft leather rubbing soft leather. Aramis felt the now familiar feelings rush through him. Aramis enjoyed the touch.

'I will not say or do anything,' Porthos said with a smile. 'I've been hiding my entire life as well remember, I would like to be more open. But I can't because some men decided, centuries ago, that what we like... or need… is a sin.'

Aramis nodded his thanks. They moved apart. Aramis could not help hoping there might be more chances for closeness and contact between the two of them over the next couple of days. He also hoped the three of them could relax in each other’s company and forget the issues  
they had in the City.

MMMM

Porthos could not understand Aramis' views. He knew his friend was conflicted, but to remain close to someone who posed a serious threat was not sensible. But Porthos would humour his friend and at the same time keep him safe. Marsac was a good man, Aramis was right about that, the man had, perhaps stupidly, sought revenge for the attacks on both Aramis and himself. But Porthos would not be able to fully trust him, if the man was prepared to kill to maintain outdated biblical standards there was always going to be a barrier between them.

Marsac was still ahead of them trotting along the lane watching their surroundings. They were all keeping an eye out. They were not being covert. The Musketeers with the papers were working covertly, out of uniform, taking a circuitous route. Porthos, Aramis and Marsac wanted to be seen. Obviously, they did not want to be attacked or captured but they did want to draw the attention away from the real intelligence. Marsac was even carrying some fake papers to help sell the ruse if they were unfortunate enough to be caught.

'It's getting late,' said Marsac over his shoulder. 'We'll not pass another town or village for a few hours. We could take advantage of that spinney.'

The Musketeer pointed at the small tight group of trees a few hundred yards to their left, a meadow surrounded the trees with good lines of sight. Porthos approved of the suggestion.

'Go and start setting up,' suggested Aramis. 'I'll see if I can catch us something more appetising than the bread and dried meat we've got.'

Porthos also approved of the second suggestion.

'Good luck,' he said with a smile. 'catch us a fat one.'

Aramis chuckled his facade fully in place. After dismounting and checking his guns he handed the horses reins to Marsac and quietly walked in the opposite direction towards a slight rise in the meadow. The tall, wildflowers and grasses would make a good cover for the Musketeer as he stalked the local fauna.

Marsac was already heading for the spinney when Porthos turned back. They had only travelled a hundred yards when a yell and gunshot had them both turn back. Porthos could not hide the shock at the sight that greeted him.

Aramis was standing with his arms outstretched showing that he was not holding a weapon. His focus was solely on the group of men who had appeared from seemingly nowhere. The men were surrounding Aramis.

'I wouldn't if I were you.'

Porthos looked across to Marsac who had his hand on his gun. The Musketeer was slowly lifting his hand away. A man with a gun drawn and aimed at them nodded his approval.

'None of you needs to be hurt. Just hand over the papers and after proving they are real you can be on your way.'

Porthos was not sure he liked the sound of the plan. More men approached, Porthos realised they had been hiding in the meadow grass. Aramis' plan to catch a rabbit had been enacted, but they were the rabbits. The men disarmed each of them, taking their weapons and wrapping a rope around their wrists. Marsac was pulled from his horse, stumbling as he reached the ground. Porthos swung his leg over the horse’s head and slid to the ground, not wanting to give the men the chance to manhandle him. The men, who Porthos was sure were Spanish, totalled six. He knew that they would have easily been able to deal with them under normal circumstances. But they had been surprised, which was embarrassing, thought Porthos, they were supposed to be alert but had allowed themselves to be captured. The men would play them off against each to get what they wanted. And as the information was not worth dying for they would allow the men to go through the motions before finding an opportunity to escape. 

Their capture was more of an inconvenience than anything else. As long as they were keeping the men busy the real intelligence was getting where it needed to go.

The ropes around their wrists were attached to the saddles of their horses as the men mounted in pairs and started across the meadow. The three captured Musketeers were  
forced to follow.

MMMM

Aramis had been very annoyed to be caught so easily He had not been vigilant enough. It was a small compensation that his two friends were caught in the same way. The man that had bound his wrists had done so with a cocky grin and a poorly disguised interest. Aramis  
rolled his eyes and shook his head. The cocky man had continued to grin as he pushed Aramis towards the others. Porthos and Marsac had received the same treatment. Aramis  
knew they were probably in for an uncomfortable few hours. They would watch for a chance to escape but Aramis knew they would not all get away unscathed. As they reached their destination, a dilapidated farmhouse, Aramis glanced at his friends. Marsac was glaring at the Spaniards, the look of anger in his eyes palpable. Porthos was taking more of an interest in his surroundings. Aramis knew he was somewhere between the two. He had spent some time trying to assess his captors and as much time as he could assessing their surroundings.

The men were all in their twenties or thirties. The leader and eldest of the group wore a blue gilet and a necktie. The rest of the men wore the same neckties. They were well-coordinated and did as their leader asked without question.

As they reached the farmhouse the Spaniards dismounted. The leader indicated for the three Musketeers to be brought forward the Spaniards roughly searched them. Their obvious weapons had already been removed, now the Spaniards relieved them of their personal effects and the fake papers from Marsac.

Aramis had to concentrate hard on not reacting when the cocky Spaniard very slowly brushed his hand across his groin. He glanced at Marsac who had not been looking in his direction. Porthos had seen and was struggling not to react. Aramis subtly shook his head. He hoped that by not reacting the grinning man would lose interest.

'Take that one first,' the leader said, pointing at Marsac, 'George, Marco, put those two in the barn. Watch them carefully.'

George nodded and pulled Porthos towards the barn. Marco smiled as he slipped his hand around Aramis' arm.

'If either of you tries to escape, that one will be hurt,' the leader indicated Marsac, who was being led into the old farmhouse. ‘He will be made to suffer.’

The deadlock was set.

MMMM

George and Marco were obviously good friends, possibly more, they did not speak to each other as they pushed Aramis and Porthos into the barn. Rather like Aramis did not need to tell Porthos what he wanted the two men seemed to just know. Marco was aroused and had the look of a predator that had captured prey normally out of bounds for it. Porthos did not like what he was seeing. He tried to think quickly, tried to think of something to say that would draw the man’s attention away from Aramis who was clearly torn between his own welfare and that of Marsac’s. The threat to Marsac was clear. Whatever Marco and George wanted they would get. Aramis had a haunted look, Porthos knew his friend was thinking about his childhood. 

They were forced into the empty barn. A rotting pile of hay in one corner gave the building a musty smell. A trough of muddy looking water just inside the open doorway was the only other thing in the barn. The wood of the walls was broken and missing in places. Porthos glanced up at the hayloft, unsurprised to see most of the boards gone or very rotten.

He was about to speak when George swept his feet out from under him, tripping him to the ground. He fell heavily, the air knocked out of him before he could properly react, he felt a weight on his back. George had sat across him, pinning him down making it difficult for him to breathe particularly with his arms trapped under him. 

A scuffle made Porthos try to turn enough to see Aramis. George pressed a knife to his neck, the cold blade all that was needed to keep him still. From his prone position, he could make out Aramis and Marco pushing at each other for a few seconds before they disappeared from sight. 

‘I’ll slit his throat,’ said George calmly. 

Aramis stopped pushing at Marco and took a step towards Porthos. 

‘Let him go.’

‘No,’ said Marco. ‘They’ll be ages with your friend and we’ve not had any fun for days. There were a couple of little girls out picking flowers…’

Marco trailed off, Porthos felt sick at the thought of what the men had done to the girls. 

‘This is how it’s going to work,’ continued Marco who had shoved Aramis a few paces away and drawn his own dagger. ‘You are going to do what we want, and your friend won’t get hurt. You refuse, we’ll hurt him...simple.’

Porthos could see the colour had drained from his friend’s face. He wished there was something he could do.

‘Your boss said we weren’t going to be hurt,’ Porthos managed to say, although taking enough of a breath to get the words out was difficult. 

Marco looked at him, ‘he only said that to get you to behave. You must be thick if you believed him.’

‘On your knees,’ said Marco, turning his attention to Aramis, ‘you are going to help me out...I need this taken care of,’ Marco vaguely gestured at his tented breeches. 

George laughed, ‘I’m jealous you’re getting the first go this time. I’d love to break him…’

Porthos found the way the men were objectifying his friend abhorrent. He shifted his weight, he could not let the men abuse his friend. George seemed ready for the move. He pressed the knife harder into his neck and moved forward slightly, pushing him further into the ground.

Porthos could not take a full breath. He was in danger of passing out. As the greyness started to cloud the edges of his vision, he was aware of Aramis twisting around to face his captor.

'Alright,' said Aramis, trying to keep his voice steady. 'Leave him alone and I'll do it.'

Porthos felt the pressure relieved a little. He managed to take a couple of good breaths. He wanted to tell Aramis not to give in to the men, but he was not afforded enough breath to speak. Aramis looked at him, Porthos could tell his friend knew what he would have said if he could have done. And Aramis was going to ignore him. All Aramis cared about was protecting him and Marsac.

The man sitting across Porthos' back shifted slightly.

'If he's any good...I want a go as well.'

Marco nodded.

'If he's any good we ain't letting him go for a bit. We deserve a bit of entertainment,’ he said.

Porthos could see Aramis struggling not to react. No doubt the memories of his childhood ordeals were threatening to overwhelm him. Porthos wished he could swap places with his friend. The shame of what he was about to do would weigh heavily on Aramis. Porthos was sure he could have dealt with the unpleasantness without letting it affect him too much. But the men were clearly more interested in assaulting Aramis. The men were not hiding the fact that they found Aramis attractive and wanted to abuse him.

He could not clearly see what was happening, George and Aramis had moved a few paces away. Porthos was sure he heard a few shuffling noises which he guessed was Aramis being forced to his knees and George undoing his breeches. Marco had twisted slightly, the movement meant Porthos had even less chance of seeing what was happening. Although Porthos did not think he wanted to watch his friend being abused. 

‘If I get even the hint that you’re gonna bite me, he’ll ram that knife into your friend's neck so fast you won’t even hear him react.’

Porthos wanted to shut out what was happening, but he could not. He wanted to swap places with his friend, but he could not. He wanted to kill the two men, but he could not. 

The knife to his throat was placed in such a way that the slightest movement would see it slice into him. He knew he would probably have a few seconds of useful movement after such an injury, but the loss of blood would soon catch up with him and Aramis’ actions would be for nothing. What Aramis was so selflessly doing was keeping both him and Marsac alive. At least for the time being. 

When they had been caught, Porthos had thought they might get roughed up a bit, one of them would probably have taken more of a beating than the others, but they would have found a moment to fight back. What was happening was not what Porthos had expected from the Spaniards. He wondered if the leader of the group knew what Marco and George were doing? Did he know about the little girls?

‘Joder si!’ exclaimed George.

Porthos wished he could not hear the positive sounds George was making as he used Aramis for his sexual gratification. 

‘Joder es Bueno…’

‘What do you mean good?’ asked Marco who was shifting about a little too much for Porthos’ liking. 

There was a pause before George spoke again. He gasped a few times before Porthos heard him take a couple of steps back.

‘Joder. He knows what he’s doing…’

Porthos sighed inwardly. Of course, Aramis knew what he was doing. The shock of what his friend had been forced to do and the worry about him and Marsac had made Aramis forget that he should have been pretending to be naive. Aramis had probably not even thought about it, not realising that by doing a good job on George he had opened himself up to further assaults.

A few quick movements out of sight caused Marco to move the knife a little. Porthos kept as still as he could despite wishing he could see what was happening. 

‘Stay still,’ said George firmly.

The words were quickly followed by a couple of punches and the sound of a body hitting the ground. Marco moved enough for Porthos to turn his head a little. 

‘Get off him,’ yelled Porthos before Marco could react. 

The Spaniard leaned over him, pushing his head down. Porthos had been uncomfortable before but the weight left him unable to take a breath at all. 

‘Shut up, or we’ll slice him open and still do what we want,’ said Marco in his ear. 

The pressure was maintained for a few more seconds before Marco shifted back again and replaced the knife. Porthos took several gasped breathes. He could see Aramis watching him with unfocused eyes, a bruise already forming across his jaw and cheek where he had been punched. 

The punches had left Aramis stunned and unable to react to what George was doing. He had been pushed onto the ground, lying on his stomach, his arms stretched in front of him. George had grabbed a chain that was slung around one of the support posts and wrapped it firmly around Aramis’ already bound wrists. As Aramis got his focus back, he tried to pull at the extra restraints, tried to unwind the chain, but only received another punch for his troubles. 

‘I thought I was going to get the second go.’

‘Fuck off,’ replied George as he started to push Aramis’ doublet up and pull his shirt loose. 

Marco did not respond for a few seconds. 

‘I guess you deserve it after the girls. They weren’t really all that good…’

Aramis’ need to save himself had finally kicked in. Porthos knew it was too late, there was no chance of his friend freeing himself, the most he could do was kick out at George. George fell back causing Marco to laugh. As he clambered to his feet George laughed as well, before kicking back, catching Aramis across the hip and thigh. The Spaniard crouched over Aramis who had twisted to the side in an attempt to get away from his attacker. George roughly grabbed Aramis’ loose doublet and shirt, twisting the material, using it to pin Aramis to the ground as he reached around his waist and started to unbutton his breeches. 

‘Do you tart yourself out to the other Musketeers?’ said Marco with a chuckle. ‘You must be good to have him so randy he’s ready for another go already.’

George laughed as he pushed his hand inside Aramis’ breeches.

‘I’m gonna fuck you so hard-’

George did not get the chance to finish his sentence. The ball from the gun going through his head silenced him permanently. George’s body slumped forward landing across Aramis. Marco moved to look at the source of the fatal shot. Porthos took his chance, twisting around and swinging his bound hands upwards at the same time. He clouted Marco across the face causing the man to crash to the ground. Porthos grabbed the knife that had been held to his throat. With no thought about his actions, he simply twisted the knife in his hands and plunged it into the man’s chest, pushing it in up to the hilt. Marco stared at him, his eyes wide for a few seconds before he coughed, bloody bubbles forming on his lips. He was dead in seconds. 

‘I can’t leave you two for a second, can I?’ said Marsac from the doorway, the smoking gun still in his hand. 

Porthos looked across at Aramis who was trying to get the body of George off him. Thoughts rushed through Porthos’ mind. Had Marsac seen what George was trying to do? Had he heard what Marco had said? His flippant remark suggested he was unaware of what had been happening, although it was obvious what George wanted of Aramis from the position he had been in when he had been shot. Aramis was not looking at either of them, he simply continued to try to get free of George’s weight across him. 

‘What about the others?’ asked Porthos, who was still trying to work out how to deal with the situation.

Marsac walked to Aramis and pulled the body away, dragging it to lie next to Marco.

‘Dealt with. Their glorious leader wasn’t so great once I’d cracked his head on the table and the others all quickly followed… think I might have bruised a few ribs though. One of them packed a punch.’

Marsac rubbed at his chest for a few seconds before shoving the gun into his belt.

Aramis had managed to twist himself up to sit and was busy unwinding the chain from his wrists. Porthos did not know what to do. He desperately wanted to go to Aramis, to gather him up in an embrace to assure him that he was safe, but he could not. Not with Marsac there, acting as though his friend had simply been attacked. 

‘We should get away,’ said Aramis, who was doing the best he could to hide the tremble to his voice and keep his breathing steady.

‘Yes,’ said Marsac who finally crouched in front of his friend and used the dagger from George’s belt to slice through the remaining rope. 

He turned from Aramis as the rope fell away and repeated the action with Porthos. Porthos watched as Aramis looked at his wrists for several seconds before he started to straighten his shirt, tucking it in slowly. It was obvious Aramis was in pain from the assorted punches and kicks he had received. Porthos was convinced Marsac was choosing to ignore what had happened, what had been about to happen. Porthos concluded the three of them were never going to talk about it. Porthos knew he could not leave Aramis as he was. He had to offer comfort; he just could not do that with Marsac around. Marsac was simply following his own beliefs, perhaps he did not realise what he was doing. But Aramis had been assaulted in a manner that would leave him with confused thoughts. Porthos knew Aramis would believe he had brought the assault on himself; he would blame himself. Marsac would not understand, would not want to understand. The man was blind to it. 

‘I think we should push on through the night and get to the next town. Get a couple of rooms and regroup,’ said Porthos.

Both Marsac and Aramis nodded. Marsac looked at Aramis for a few seconds. 

‘Are you going to be able to ride?’ he asked. ‘You look a bit banged up, we can’t have you falling off your horse, wilting like some fair maid.’

Aramis managed a smile. A fake smile. The smile that went with the facade. Porthos wanted to shake his head and tell them both what he thought of their behaviour, but he knew he could not, for Aramis’ sake, he could not. 

MMMM

It had been difficult not to overreact to the man’s actions. When Marsac had shot the man that was forcing his hand inside his underclothes Aramis was not sure if he was pleased the assault had ended or mortified that it was Marsac that had ended it. He chose not to look at either of his friends for as long as possible. He had to blink back the threatening tears. He was a Musketeer, a soldier, he could not let what had happened to affect him. The thoughts and memories the actions of the Spaniard had brought back to him were still rushing around in his mind. The usually controlled torment was threatening to overwhelm him. 

When Marsac had suggested he double up with one of them he knew it had to be Porthos. If he were to lose his battle with the memories Porthos would be the one who would understand and deal with it. 

Marsac helped him up behind Porthos with a friendly slap on his thigh causing him to wince in pain. Marsac looked at him, his brow furrowed with concern.

‘He kicked me,’ was Aramis’ simple response.

‘Bunch of bastards,’ muttered Marsac. 

Porthos waited for Marsac to tie Aramis’ horse to his own before pushing his horse into a gentle trot.

‘You alright,’ asked the Musketeer quietly without turning around. 

Aramis nodded, before remembering Porthos could not see him. He would have to verbalise a response which was harder than a simple nod.

‘I will be… your necks cut,’ he said. ‘That’s going to need cleaning.’

Porthos shook his head and sighed. 

‘Are you really alright?’

‘I’ll have to be,’ said Aramis after a few seconds. ‘He wouldn’t understand.’

‘You’re not going to keep this quiet,’ said Porthos. ‘We are going to talk about it. You hide too much. It’s not good. You’ve got me… I want you to talk about it.’

‘You were there…’

‘But I was not attacked.’

‘What do you want me to say? That I feel like I’ve let you both down by allowing that to happen?’

Porthos did not respond. He shook his head. Aramis wondered if his friend was angry with his inability to face what had happened. All Aramis wanted to do was forget it. But he had received injuries. The bruises were only going to get worse. Porthos and Marsac both had their own injuries. They could not forget the incident straight away, much as Aramis would have liked. He could feel the tension from Porthos, and he knew Marsac was just as wound up. 

His friend had seen what was going on, his actions had prevented George from doing anything worse. But Aramis knew Marsac would not say anything, would pretend that nothing had happened beyond the beating Aramis had received. Aramis was relieved that Marsac had not managed to free himself in time to see what he had done before George had wanted more. He cursed himself for encouraging the Spaniard to continue the assault. If he had acted as though he did not know how to deal with the man’s arousal George would probably have not carried on, he would have probably just beaten him. Which Aramis would very much have preferred. 

He shivered, the memory of the man pinning him down and undoing his breeches sprang to the forefront of his mind. The feeling of the man’s hand slipping around his waist. Just the man touching him at all. He felt sick. He thought about the men in the brothel. 

Porthos shifted slightly in front of him, getting more comfortable on the horse. Aramis had his hands on the back of the saddle, he contemplated resting them on his friend's waist. Would the contact with someone he trusted help him at that moment? It was an odd thought. Generally, when he had those moments of contact with Porthos it sent a now welcomed thrill of excitement through him, but at that moment he wanted comfort. He knew he would not get the same feeling if he were to touch Marsac, their relationship was not the same. He loved both of his friends, they would all die for one another, it was what they did, they were soldiers it was a brotherly code between all the Musketeers. 

But Porthos. 

Aramis shook his head, he was confused. He stopped his rambling thoughts for a moment and realised that just thinking about Porthos had helped him. The abhorrent attack on him had not gone away but he felt better for considering what Porthos might be able to do to help him. His friend was correct, he did need to talk about what had happened. He had, in Porthos, a man who would understand and not judge him. Marsac would be expecting him to simply recover because that was what soldiers did. 

Porthos had opened Aramis’ eyes. He was slowly realising that perhaps it was not all bad, what he was. The men that had attacked him were bad, that was wrong, but to enjoy the company of other men, when both men were there for the same reason...was it so wrong?

MMMM

Porthos disliked his friend's quietness. It was almost as though the facade had stopped working. He would have preferred his friend to at least pretend he was fine and speak a little on their journey to the nearest town, but after he had told him he wanted them to talk about the incident Aramis had not said another word. Porthos wondered if Aramis felt as though he had been scolded for trying not to react. Porthos knew it was what Marsac would expect, what most soldiers would expect. He had known a couple of men who had been captured during a battle when he was in the infantry. They had been brutally attacked and it was rumoured that one of them had been raped. The two men never said a word about that aspect of their capture, but Porthos had seen the haunted looks from both men. The assault had changed them both and their inability to talk about the assault made it worse. Porthos had been the one that found the man after he had hanged himself. 

He knew the attack on Aramis was not as severe, but it could have been. And he was damned if he was going to let it eat his friend up. He would be keeping a very close eye on Aramis. The fact that the assault was probably bringing other unpleasant memories to the surface was also a worry. 

As the town came into view with its promise of a tavern where they could spend the rest of the night in comfort Porthos vowed to look out for his friend, even if Aramis did not know he needed the help. 

They were in luck at the tavern, the amiable old man who owned the inn had two rooms available. He took one look at the state of the three of them as they dismounted and started issuing a few instructions to his stable boy and cook. Marsac pressed some coins into the man’s hand asking him if they could eat in their room. The tavern keeper looked at the money with a smile and said that they were welcome to do so. He helped them to carry their saddlebags up and started the fire in the small hearth in the larger of the two rooms. 

Aramis, without saying a word, pushed Porthos to sit at the table in the centre of the room and cleaned the cuts to his neck. Porthos was surprised to see how much they were bleeding. He was aware he had been sliced by Marco but not to what extent.

‘You’re lucky it doesn’t need stitches,’ remarked Marsac with a chuckle, ‘that would hurt.’

Porthos was glad as well, particularly when he noticed that Aramis’ hand shook slightly as he cleaned the cuts to his neck and the grazes to the side of his face. He looked up at his friend a few times, but Aramis was not making eye contact, in fact, he had continued to remain quiet since they had arrived. 

‘I’ll just put my bits in the other room, you two seem settled in here,’ said Marsac without giving them a choice about the sleeping arrangements. 

He closed the door behind him. Porthos took the opportunity to reach up to Aramis, gently turning his face towards him with a finger under his chin.

‘You’re injured as well,’ he said. ‘Let me see to those grazes. And you probably need your wrists dressed.’

Aramis glanced at his wrists, turning each hand over to look at the damage.

‘Those ropes were rough,’ he said absentmindedly. ‘Porthos I-’

Whatever Aramis was going to say was interrupted by the door being pushed open again. Marsac held the door for the tavern keeper and his serving girl who were both carrying trays. The bowls of food on them steaming as they were placed on the table where Aramis had hurriedly cleared away his medical kit and the cloths they had used. 

‘Thank you,’ said Porthos. ‘It smells delicious.’

‘My cook used to be a soldier, he can make something from nothing, I pay him well so that he won’t go and work for my competitor at the other end of the town,’ said their host with a chuckle. 

The old man ushered his serving girl from the room before following her to the door.

‘If there is anything else you need, let me know,’ he said before stepping out of the room. 

The three Musketeers settled themselves at the table. Marsac moved the assorted bowls and cups off the trays.

‘That looks nasty,’ said Marsac with a nod towards Aramis’ wrists.

‘Porthos said he’d dress them,’ replied Aramis. ‘But I think it will keep for a few minutes whilst we eat.’

Porthos detected a slight tremble to his friend's voice. He wondered what it was Aramis had been about to say when Marsac returned. He hoped his friend would finish the sentence later when they were alone, there had been an unusual look in Aramis’ eye as he had spoken. Porthos was intrigued. 

They ate the food, which was as good as it looked. Marsac talked between mouthfuls, while Aramis said very little, his concentration wandering occasionally. Porthos could tell his friend was having flashbacks but trying to cover the fact. Much as Porthos generally enjoyed Marsac’s company at that particular moment he wished the man would finish his meal and retire to bed. 

With an exaggerated yawn, Marsac pushed his empty bowl away from him and reached for his cup of wine. He leaned back in his chair and sipped at the wine for a few seconds. Aramis had already finished his and had moved to the sideboard where the bowl of water had been moved, he was stood with his back to them as he cleaned the grazes on his wrists. 

‘At least we managed to cause the distraction Treville wanted,’ chuckled Marsac. ‘And we removed the threat. ...Well I did, you two just got yourselves knocked about.’

Porthos huffed, ‘enjoy your victory,’ he said with a smile, ‘I’m sure we’ll be rescuing you again soon.’

Porthos hoped he had not sounded sarcastic; he did not want to sound sarcastic towards his friend but he certainly felt that way. Marsac was going to ignore what happened and expected them both to do the same. Inwardly Porthos sighed, Marsac was just doing what society expected. He was caught up in the indoctrination of the masses. Perhaps Marsac was a victim as much as he and Aramis were, just on opposite sides?

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ the Musketeer said after draining his cup. 

‘Did you want me to look at your ribs?’ asked Aramis as Marsac moved towards the door.

Marsac shook his head, ‘it’s just bruising, I’ve had worse when I’ve been brawling with him.’

Marsac nodded to Porthos with a smile before slipping from the room. They could hear his steps as he walked across the corridor to the small room he had taken for himself. 

Porthos turned to Aramis who was picking through his medical bag, pulling a couple of bandages out. Porthos reached out for them as Aramis returned to the table, resting his elbows on the edge as Porthos unwound the bandages. 

Porthos looked at Aramis, surprised to find his friend actually looking back at him.

‘I’m sorry I wanted to deny anything happened,’ said Aramis slowly.

Porthos did not say anything, he wanted to hear what else his friend might say. Aramis held out his right arm, Porthos began to wrap the bandage around his wrist. 

‘You’re right, of course, denying it is stupid. It’s just Marsac and, well, everyone, would not want me to be affected by it. The same way that I can’t tell people about what happened to me as a child…’ Aramis paused for a few seconds. ‘You don’t talk to people about your childhood encounters even though you were a more...willing participant.’

Porthos managed a slight smirk, ‘I weren’t totally willing. I did it to survive.’

Aramis looked awkward for a few moments, ‘sorry, that’s not how I meant it-’

‘I know,’ said Porthos quietly.

He tied off the first bandage. Aramis looked at Porthos’ work before holding out his left wrist.

‘If Marsac hadn’t turned up when he had… that man was going to do it. I was going to let them… you had a knife to your throat, what choice did I have?’

Porthos paused and looked back up at Aramis, ‘you were starting to fight back though, you weren’t just going to let him do it.’

Aramis furrowed his brow, ‘was I?’

Porthos could not help a smile, ‘yes, you were. Just before Marsac got there you kicked out at the bastard… don’t you remember that?’

Aramis looked away, narrowing his eyes as he tried to remember. Porthos guessed the more horrific aspects of the assault were clearer in his mind.

‘Well you did, that’s why he kicked you.’

‘Oh,’ said Aramis, who appeared to still be trying to remember.

Porthos tied off the second bandage, Aramis did not move his hand away, Porthos kept hold of it. They looked at each other for several seconds. 

‘Thank you,’ said Aramis.

‘What for?’

‘Making me talk about it.’

‘You’ve barely said anything.’

Aramis smiled, ‘I suppose not, but I really don’t know what to say at the moment. Maybe I’ll need to talk about it. And knowing that you’ll be there to listen, is… comforting.’

Aramis had reddened slightly. Porthos was not sure what to do. It was the first time he had shared a moment with Aramis and not been disturbed by someone else and they both seemed to be aware of it. 

Aramis glanced at the door for a few seconds, he looked back at Porthos.

‘I… I wonder if you might... ‘he looked at one of the beds. ‘I don’t think I want to be alone tonight…’

Porthos guessed why Aramis had looked at the door, he wanted to be sure the key was in the lock. Porthos nodded his understanding and released Aramis’ hand. He crossed to the door and turned the key, he checked that the door was indeed locked before turning back to Aramis who had not moved from the chair, he was looking down, taking long slow breaths.

Porthos moved to his friend, crouching in front of him. Aramis had hidden it well, but the shock had finally bubbled over. Perhaps he had been waiting for the door to be locked and Porthos to have indicated he would be there for him. Aramis allowed Porthos to take his hand and guide him to the bed. Porthos did what he had wanted to do since the moment they had been freed of their restraints in the barn. He gathered his friend in his arms and simply held onto him. Aramis slipped his arms around Porthos’ waist and clutched onto him. Porthos had wanted to get close to Aramis for some time.

He just wished it was under different circumstances.

**Author's Note:**

> ...to be continued...


End file.
